Hinata's Zentai Experience
by Gobeul
Summary: Sometimes Hinata needs to get away from it all, and she has a rather unorthodox way of doing it... oneshot


Author's notes: First of all, I wrote this because the idea quite literally leapt at me. I couldn't resist, and my other two stories have something of a block in them for the moment. The next chapter I'm supposed to write for God of Luck features Cyborg as the main focus, which is the hardest character for me to get down. Anyway, this is not your run-of-the-mill oneshot fic. I get the impression that a lot of fanfiction is all about love, perhaps sex, or violence, and Naruto, I imagine, is no exception. That's not a bad thing. But I want it to be clear that this is a Hinata fanfic that is in no way oriented towards any of these things. The main word here isn't 'love' or 'sex', but 'private'. This is my attempt to add some new dimension to an undoubtedly popular character. Some important notes: in this story, Hinata's mother isn't dead, but a diplomat who doesn't seem to remain in touch. As for timing: the story itself is placed after graduation from the Academy, but before the Chunin exam, so Hinata is still a shy girl at this point who desperately wants to change. Also, note how I'm trying to portray the character. Some of the things mentioned here (Choronzon, most importantly) are indeed feared among modern day magicians. So why would a 12-year-old girl be doing them? Because she's a genius at it. Why not? Naruto's got his endless chakra, Sasuke's got the Sharingan, Neji is repeatedly cited as a genius among the highest family in Konoha, while Rock Lee is called a genius of effort. Why shouldn't there be a genius of personality? Why not introduce a character who, by circumstance, is faced with the darkest emotions in the human mind; despair, helplessness, repressed anger, and learns to cope with them? And why not make it Hinata Hyuga? It's not about the fact that she changes, but the fact that she realises it can be done, and that she retains this belief despite being shown the contrary on many occasions (unlike Naruto, who knows one can change because he actually changes).

Disclaimer: I have never worn a zentai suit at the time of writing. I can't be sure if I describe the experience accurately. But I try. I don't own Naruto, or Hinata, and the yamabushi are a sort of monk equivalents to ninja. You can look them up on Wikipedia. The name Korozonu is a Japanese pronunciation of the name Choronzon, which I also don't own. It's a magic thing. That about covers the essentials, so…enjoy.

Hinata's zentai experience. 

As always, Hinata checked for pursuit. Her goal was quite remote, but not impossibly far from Konoha's centre. She activated her Byakugan eyes and suppressed a yelp. She'd always been sensitive to the overwhelming effects of her family's ability, and in a forest such as this, she always struggled. She saw worms, butterflies, mice…so many, always so many.

She let her gaze return to normal. No humans in sight. Just to be safe, she took to the high ground and started leaping from tree to tree, checking every once in a while if the area was clear. It wasn't a long trip, but she needed to be sure she was alone. If anyone ever found out…

She arrived at the old bunker, Second or Third Shinobi War, she couldn't tell. Checking the surroundings one last time, she went in quietly, careful not to disturb the foliage crawling on the door. The door itself was never locked from the outside; that would only draw more people in. But she did put a padlock on the inside, so anyone who came looking would only think it an abandoned bunker with a stubborn entrance. Hinata went in slowly, though her eyes had revealed no one inside. She treaded carefully over the hard stone floor; little light filtered down through the small windows. She made her way to the furthest room and locked that one as well. The padlocks she used were all new, so she needn't worry about locking herself in. And even if she did, who would miss her? Shino and Kiba, perhaps, just because they'd grown used to her. Kurenai-sensei as well, because she saw a daughter in Hinata. Her family wouldn't, though: her mother was never there while her father only cared for Hanabi, Hinata's younger, stronger sister. Hinata was expelled out of the Hyuga clan, rejected by her own kin. And what of Naruto? Would he miss her?

She found herself still leaning against the cold metal door, on the verge of tears. She decided to shut out those thoughts. She was overdue for a session, very much overdue.

She took off her jacket, immediately feeling the cool summer air permeating her system. She sat down on a little stool to take of her shoes, then undid the shuriken holster on her leg and took off the forehead protector she wore as a necklace. In her mind, she wasn't a Konoha shinobi now. She was just herself, and soon, she would be nobody at all.  
Hinata took off her T-shirt and ankle-length pants, leaving her in her underwear. She always got self-conscious at this point. Her budding womanly curves were normally hidden by wide jackets, or some other concealing garment, but that didn't change the fact that they were there. Her body was slowly but surely entering a time of change, and it was just one more thing for her to worry about. Pondering at her body's shape, she couldn't help but wonder if Naruto would approve. Would he ever look at her the same way as he looked at that other girl, Sakura? Would he ever just look at her with the same admiring gaze Hinata had for him?

Her cold feet reminded her of what she'd come to do. Moving quietly over the sterile stone floor (she kept the place tidy herself), she went to a small box, also padlocked, and opened it.

In it was her treasure: a set of zentai suits, costumes that covered every square inch of the wearer's body and hugged the skin in a way no living thing ever could. She'd ordered them by mail, an easy task considering how her father made a point of ignoring her every move, and even though it seemed an eternity ago since she'd first donned one, the feeling of the soft stretchy fabric on her skin still brought her the same solace as always. She didn't even realise she'd taken out the first one until she was rubbing it lovingly against her face. The first costume she put on was a milky white, light suit.

Grabbing it by the opening in its back, Hinata stepped in with one foot, then the other, carefully evening out the fabric over her skin, leaving no creases. She always made sure her nails were clipped short, to avoid cutting the wonderful fabric. Pulling it up, the white fabric hugged her waist and butt, and for a moment she imagined if this was how it felt to be held by someone who loved you. That thought always came to her at this point, but then that was to be expected. She had almost ritualised this sequence, and learned to relish even the slight pains of loneliness that came to her. Reaching behind her, she closed the zipper, letting the fabric envelop her belly, waist and back. It felt like going to sleep, which wasn't even that far from what she was going to do. She put her arms in the appropriate sleeves, left, then right, then closed the suit further, until only her neck and face remained uncovered. She straightened it out again, making sure her fingers were completely wrapped up, and that her premature breasts were equally wrapped in tight fabric.  
Before sealing in her face, Hinata put in a pair of light earplugs, rendering her quite deaf, but not uncomfortably so. She wouldn't hear anything, but the plugs were so light she wouldn't feel them, either. Prepared to plunge in completely, she pulled the hood of the suit over her head, arranging her hair in a comfortable fashion, and closed the zipper entirely.

She ran her hands over her body again, relishing every little sensation, or rather lack thereof. Moving to the corner of the room, she took out two more zentai suits. Her vision was only mildly blocked by the first white costume, but she still preferred to stay close to the little rig she'd put up. In the utmost secret, she'd installed several heavy rings in the ceiling that held a set of leather straps, hanging a few feet over the ground. Everything was bolted tightly, and she knew the thing would hold twice her weight without any strain. In effect, it was rather like a hammock, only one that supported every individual limb. She was still surprised at herself for being so handy to install it, but she never dwelled on it. She just put on the second layer of zentai suit. This one was green, and as it slipped over the first milky white costume it blotted out her tactile senses even further. It felt as though she was getting dressed for the first time; like that single moment in life when feeling something covering one's skin was an entirely new and alien sensation. Putting her head in the second hood, she welcomed the almost total blindness.

For some reason, Hinata was more sensitive than the other members of the House Hyuga. Her Byakugan didn't merely stress her, it hurt. It always hurt to be bombarded with so much information and not have some way to shut it out. Of course it didn't stop there. Using Jyuuken required a great understanding of energy flows, which meant that the form of attack she used rendered her acutely aware of the damage she caused. Her problem, as the Hyuga saw it, was this: she couldn't make her heart into stone. She couldn't look at the enemy and not care for their safety. She couldn't ball her fists and not flinch at the pain she would cause. But Hinata didn't see it that way; she only saw weakness in herself, nothing more. That's why she relished these suits: they blinded her, deafened her, they took everything away.

Just one more layer…

Her third zentai suit was thick, grey and comfortably tight. This one was the final nail on the coffin she'd made for herself. When it enclosed her feet, they became unaware of the cold stone ground. Over her legs, one went numb, then the other, then her loins seemingly ceased to exist. Pulling it up, her encased belly couldn't tell how much air was coming in. She pulled the zipper up a little. Feeling the suit move up over her chest, her lungs reacted to lack of sensory input. The first two layers over her head had already dulled Hinata's awareness of air coming in, but she needn't worry about air: the place was well ventilated and the suits breathed easily. Going up again, her arms went in, hands reduced to clumsy movements, as if she'd become a doll.

The thought lingered. How wonderful it would be, to be a doll. No cares, no worries, and always someone to play with…

With some effort she found and locked the zipper further still. Then she went completely blind as she pulled the third and final hood over her face. Acting on memory, she reached out behind her and, arms meeting some resistance, she found the straps of leather she needed.

Pulling herself up, she shifted her weight over each individual piece of leather. Her right ankle, left ankle, right knee, left knee, waist, butt, back, neck, head…all had their perfect place and all found it by relying on gravity alone. She placed her left arm on the straps provided for it, then reached out to the wall with the other one. Again meeting some resistance, she found and pushed in the timer. Then she placed her right arm beside her, leaving her encased body in suspension.

She hung, she floated, she clutched. At first her body had the reflex of clinging to every sensation it could get, humans being built with the idea that no sensation meant certain death. The irony was, death was exactly what Hinata sought: the death before dying. The awareness of the straps keeping her in suspension faded as she stayed still. She meditated, of sorts. Her eyes saw only darkness, her ears heard nothing, and her skin was covered in tight fabric, depriving her of all sensory input. Even her breath went unnoticed, as it came slowly and deeply. That's how it always started. Now time would seem to expand, losing all meaning. It was a comfortable state, but not what she sought. What she sought lay deeper, far deeper.

The next step was dying. Without any input from the outside world, Hinata's mind and body activated a panic reflex. Inside her self-imposed prison, Hinata became vaguely aware of her heartbeat reaching a fever pitch as thoughts bombarded her fragile mind, coming out of nowhere. The thoughts were always questions, and they always tortured her.

They would start specific.  
Why did she freeze on last week's mission?  
She had an answer, of course, but that never satisfied anything. She froze because she was scared. But she'd trained so hard, and she'd really gotten better at combat. So what was she scared of?

Then they would move to a more general, yet personal sphere.  
Why did she stutter, even around her friends?  
She stuttered because she was afraid to say the wrong thing. But that was ridiculous; Shino was always the stoic type and Kiba was… well, Kiba. She could throw a fit at either of them, get really angry at them, and they still wouldn't hate her, she knew that. So why did she stutter?

Next the questions went to even further depths.  
Why did her family resent her? Why didn't her mother at least try to keep in touch? Why didn't her father care as much for her as he did for Hanabi, her younger yet stronger sister?  
Her mother was always away on diplomatic missions, se couldn't find time to communicate anything to Konoha. But couldn't she make time? Or was it that she didn't want to?  
As for her father, the answer was obvious: she was weak. Her uncle had been forced to sacrifice his own life after she was almost kidnapped, and the sacrifice just hadn't been worth it. But why was she so weak, if her little sister could be so strong?

Every question bored into her, leading to the same thing: Self questioning Self. The demon Korozonu that yamabushi lore spoke of. In this state of mind, Hinata could feel her own ego cannibalising itself, ultimately leaving nothing but to die of nothingness.

The next step was her goal; to go from dying to dead. She relaxed her body, cleared her mind, and died. All of her questions, all her cares and worries… everything simply dissolved into nothingness. A slight twinge went through her as she realised she'd once again encountered the barrier of Self/Not Self in her mind. She went through and let her identity dissolve. She seemed to step outside her body, and saw it as an anonymous, featureless grey figure suspended in the air.

This was it.

This was her own kind of freedom.

Her fears dissolved, her dreams, her memories; she threw her very Self into acidic pools of oblivion.

She was losing all concept of being, and never so much as flinched at it.

She was not in Team 8, led by Kurenai Yuuhi.

She was not a genin.

She was not a shinobi of any rank.

She had never attended the Konoha Academy, and she'd never taken classes with Iruka-sensei.

She was not a member of the Hyuga clan.

She did not live in Konoha village.

She was not in any way sad, nor weak.

She felt nothing for Naruto Uzumaki.

She was not a 12-year-old girl.

She was not human.

Everything just went away, leaving her with nothing.

No weakness, no strength, no identity.

Hinata lay there, seeing everything at once yet nothing at all. This was an experience beyond the Byakugan, beyond anything she might obtain by blood.

She had no blood. She was nothing. She'd stepped into the Abyss, and forgotten all notions of identity, blood, existence and space.

She didn't love anything, nor hate.

She had surrendered meaning, and become non-existent.

This was what she needed, though 'need' had also lost its meaning.

She'd gotten away from it all; her own failures and fears, as well as the hopes and dreams they so painfully smothered.

She felt nothing.

She felt void.

She felt perfect.

All too soon, the sensation of hard stone against the suit roused her. She got up and slowly took off all three suits, folding each one delicately into the treasure chest that held them, padlocking it again. She checked the rigs as she dressed, and came down from her experience. It had worked perfectly, as always. When the timer went off, the ropes and straps were gently lowered to the floor, waking her even in sensory deprivation. It had taken a lot of her mission fees, and a lot of free time, but she never regretted it. Fully dressed, she almost forgot to take off the earplugs. Pocketing them, she checked her clothes to make sure there were no traces of her session, then made her way outside. The smell of sweat assaulted her nose, the suits' isolation having that kind of effect. She made a mental note to bring deodorant next time, or a towel, given that the summer heat was coming.

As she went through the bunker hall, she became aware of a strange sensation. She didn't recognise it at all. She activated her Byakugan, and was relieved to find it didn't hurt this time. The sensory input had become a sense of oneness rather than a sense of being overwhelmed. There was nothing there, no trespassers, no humans in sight. She was the only person there. Still, she couldn't put her finger on that sensation.

She opened the bunker door and stepped outside.

Strangely, she'd never actively questioned why she enjoyed these experiences that went beyond normal sensory deprivation. Zentai suits were commonly attributed to some sexual experience, but at twelve years of age Hinata was hardly sexually mature. The answer, unknown to her, was far simpler. The experience she relished, the complete dissolution of Self, was a highly desired yet dreaded experience among priests and shinobi alike. To let go of identity was to have greater understanding of oneself and the world, yet Hinata didn't gain this understanding, ironically, because she was too embarrassed to speak of it with anyone. Her own reason was in fact this: if she could dissolve herself, let go of her personality, for just a moment, then that meant she could change her personality, replace it with something better. If she stopped being herself, then she could stop being so weak. That was what her instincts kept telling her deep down.

Unfortunately, the Hyuga girl was unaware of this as she closed bunker door. She could indeed let go of herself, but she couldn't find the strength in her to do it permanently, to completely shed her weakness, for all humans cling to the things that define them, even the negative ones. For now, she would be her old self again, in a while. She couldn't place that odd feeling, though.

Perhaps if the bunker's door hadn't been so overgrown with greenery, she'd have realised what it was. Perhaps if her forehead protector had fallen off at that point, she'd have seen it as she picked it up. But nothing of the sort happened, in a cruel twist of Fate. As she exited the bunker, she did not see her own reflection.

If she had, she would have known: there was a smile on her face.

Not a shy smile, or an apologetic smile, or even a 'come on, guys, knock it off' smile.

It was just a genuine… happy… smile.

And perhaps if she'd seen it, she'd have realised how beautiful it was, how beautiful she was.

Content with the unnamed feeling, she turned around and headed home, ready to face the hardships of the world once again.

The End.

* * *

Well, that's the end of this one-shot. Feel free to reivew as you see fit, but please don't comment on the spelling of Japanese words or names. Other stuff, fine, but that, big no-no.


End file.
